


Endeering

by Grigori_girl



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, deer centaur au, resbang 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:23:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6141376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grigori_girl/pseuds/Grigori_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stumbling upon a hidden society of centaurs, almost dying, and possibly making the biggest mistake of his life wasn't exactly a part of Soul Evans' plans. Yet, here he is- trying to integrate himself into this incredible world in the middle of a centuries old war, falling in love with a magical creature, and finding out that all is not what it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endeering

* * *

There are many ways he could blame himself for the events of the past three months. He could blame his curiosity, or his damn pretentious little musical heart for wanting to ‘draw inspiration from nature’. He could blame Wes, for encouraging him to try to get back into writing his own music. If he really wanted to, he could blame his parents for forcing him into some prestigious music school in the middle of waterlogged Oregon. Unfortunately, no matter how he tried to spin it, he knew with one hundred percent clarity that this was all his own fault.

* * *

_Two Months Ago…_

With a deadline pressing down on his shoulders and his chicken scratch filled notebook weighing down his bag, Soul meandered through the thick forest, boots catching on snarling tree roots that spilled onto the poor excuse of a path. As he came upon a fork in the road, he glanced up at the faded signs. The paint had long since washed away with the constant rainfall and the wood was soaked to the point of splintering. Both were barely able to convey which path lead where. With a derisive snort, Soul veered away from the path with a self-satisfied smirk at his precious excuse of small time rebellion, nearly tripping over yet another tree root as he basked in the glory of his coolness.

Swatting drooping wigs of moss from low hanging branches, he continued on his trek through the green mess. He couldn’t help but to think that it looked like something from a fairy tale book. With towering ponderosa pine trees and thick trunked giant spruces, all with tiny feathery ferns fluttering at their bases and a mix of lush moss and pine needles carpeting the ground, he half expected to see fairies or a unicorn. Although the temperature was cool, the gathering mist and humidity was starting to stick his hair to the back of his neck. Long sleeves were not doing him any favors.

As Soul stopped in his tracks, hands digging through his satchel for a headband, he could imagine the music this place might inspire. Soft and gentle, nothing like his usual pieces. The music that belonged here flowed with the forest, keeping the serenity and peace but also to set the mood. He tried to picture the scene before him as if it were from a movie and he was to pick the soundtrack to match. Soul pulled his snowy hair back into a small bun, proceeding to push his headband over his forehead to corral the stray locks away from his eyes.

As much as he knew what kind of music would fit into a place like this, he knew he couldn't bring himself to actually write it. Although...maybe he _should_ write it. He'd definitely get a decent grade if he did, and his professor could send a lovely little email home to the parentals about how he quit playing that 'disturbing' music. It would be an easy fix for an age old problem, but since Soul was a rebel at heart and music was the only thing he felt was truly his, he wasn't going to write what he knew would get him a passing grade. He was going to write himself, from the soul, and he wasn't going to give a damn what grade he got.

Except, he was still going to write the soft fairy music. He couldn't help himself- the music was still his, but it would easily be able to pass as someone else's. Maybe he could play it on his guitar instead, or even on one of Wes' violins. Soul pondered this as he continued tromping through the tangled underbrush, pushing his sleeves up his forearms as he thought about which instrument in their large collection would be the best fit for the tune he had in mind. As he contemplated, crimson eyes landed on a small outcropping of rock, rays of light breaking through the canopy of trees to shine upon the space like a spotlight. He half expected angels to descend from the heavens and begin singing hallelujah. Shaking away the thought, Soul made his way toward it, small ferns brushing his ankles and tugging at his bootlaces as if begging him to stay.

The small cluster of rock jut out from the softly sloping hill, coming about to his collarbones, and just big enough for him to be able to sit on it comfortably. Digging the toes of his boots into the dirt, Soul heaved himself onto the small flat, turning on his knees before plopping down on his bottom and crossing his legs. He slipped the strap of his satchel over his head and dug into the bag, producing his notebook and pen, flipping the book open to a random page. He put his pen to the paper, only to stop short. His mind drew a blank as he stared at the lines, the bottom corner of the pages light brown and blurred due to a coffee mishap the week before. Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, Soul tapped the butt of the pen against his knee, looking away from the mocking blue and red streaks in hopes of collecting his thoughts into something more useful.

It was quiet here, he realized. Much more quiet than back home with his parents. He grew up in houses made of music, with foundations of compositions and walls painted with orchestras and people who embodied the notes they so perfectly played. Even living with Wes, it was almost never silent. If one of them wasn’t playing music, then they were listening to it, and if they weren’t listening to it they were talking about it. Wes would argue that his bed mate of the week would make beautiful music, though Soul would bet a week’s worth of lost sleep otherwise.

Out here, there was only the soft sweeping of the wind, its gusts like fingers combing through the tangled branches. The birds were a distant chatter as they ruffled their feathers against the chill and sang of places far away and forever warm. Part of him wanted to plug his earbuds into his phone and listen to the music he has picked for himself, music that a thousand or a hundred thousand would agree was perfect, but he couldn’t bring himself to drag his full attention away from the magic around him. He thought that if he listened hard enough, he could make out the sound of running water. Soul smiled to himself softly. If this place could get anymore storybook-esque, he might just have to believe that he walked right into another dimension.

Just as his gaze returned to his paper, he caught a glimpse of something moving, and he quickly looked back up just in time to see the back end of a deer disappear behind the thick trunk of a tree. He stared in wonder, waiting for it to move out from the other side, the sound of snapping twigs echoed back to his ears, and he leaned forward in anticipation. Instead of the animal emerging from the other side, there was a sharp _snap_ , like the metal jaws of a trap closing, and the crash of something heavy falling and flailing to the forest floor, and an unearthly, blood curdling scream of unadulterated pain.

Without thinking, Soul scrambled up and launched himself from his perch, knees kissing the ground as he stumbled and his boots searched for purchase. Fumbling his way through the underbrush, he made his way to the tree, small cries and huffed breaths of pain drifted to his ears and that's when he began to question himself. How was he supposed to help a wounded animal? He didn't know anything about household pets, let alone wildlife. Cautiously, Soul peeked around the trunk of the tree, bloody eyes widening upon inspection. His breath left his lungs in a rush, and he whispered, "Holy shit."

Writhing in the dirt before him was a creature he never would've thought existed, let alone something he’d see in real life. He wanted to say she was a centaur, his limited knowledge on mythology failing him horribly at the moment, but he was sure centaurs were half _horse_ , right? From her hips down, though, she was a deer. The large antlers upon her head might've been a dead giveaway, also. Part of him was convinced he was dreaming—that he'd fallen asleep on the little space of rock a few yards away, or maybe that he'd never came to the forest at all. But when the creature's head popped up in alarm and locked eyes with him, he knew this was real. "Can you help me?" She asked quietly, gaze flickering about the scenery behind him nervously. Soul gaped like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing dumbly as he tried to find something to say. A sense of urgency seemed to settle into her features, her constantly shifting eyes jumped to his face. "Hello?" She waved a hand, pine needles and leaves unsticking themselves from her palm with the movement. "Holá?"

When he didn't respond, her face screwed up, the expression surprisingly adorable, and her eyes went back on their search. She spoke in a quick succession, flipping almost seamlessly in a rapid fire of various languages impatiently. Dimly, he recognized a few, but once she'd hit Italian, he shook himself from his stupor. "Er, English is fine, what can I do?"

Carefully, she situated herself on the bed of fallen foliage and ferns, tucking three of her four knobby legs underneath herself, unable to move the other very well. Soul's eyes were drawn to her extended limb, over the freckled flank and across the rippling muscle under the soft fur, down to her polished hoof that was soaked in blood. Her foot was caught in some sort of trap- an iridescent purple orb, the surface seeming to swirl like oil on water, but its interior was crisscrossed with paper thin arrows, darker than black and looking sharper than even the best blade. The vectors sliced across the delicate skin, ribbons of blood slithering over their obsidian faces. Luckily, most had missed her foot, leaving only skin-deep cuts. All except for one, that is. One arrow had pierced through her foot completely. "How bad is it?" She murmured. Soul shrugged.

"Not too bad, at least I don't think so." The words caught in his throat and stumbled on his teeth as she shifted slowly to the right. "A-a few minor cuts, but, um, one went all the way through."

She mumbled something under her breath, brows pulling together as she gave an experimental tug at her wounded leg. She yelped and grit her teeth, bottle glass gaze returning to his face. "Where did it go through?"

"Um," Soul cocked his head, staring at the blood soaking the dirt. "Right through that little piece of skin, I think?" Her lips thinned into a displeased line, her chest rising and falling in controlled breaths. "What should I do?"

She opened her mouth, a reply at the ready, but her eyes widened and she suddenly lunged for something to her left, hands scrabbling through the thick carpet of leaves and dirt. Her hands wrapped around her prize, and she looked over her shoulder, screaming, "Get down!"

Soul froze, not quite comprehending the situation, and when she turned back, she whipped the thing in her hand out under his feet, knocking him to the ground, and bringing it back up in the same motion. No sooner had his ass hit the ground, a gnarled looking charred arrow lodged itself in a tree. He watched as her fingers unfurled and she sent her own arrow flying through the trees. Distantly, he heard it hit its mark. In her hand was a beautifully carved bow, made entirely from curving polished branches, and it looked as if it were plucked from a tree like a fine fruit. With practiced ease, she notched two more arrows onto the pale green cord, gaze never leaving the woods behind him. "Hurry and get that trap off my leg. They'll be here any minute and we need to _go_."

"Who's _they_?" He asked with increasing panic, the feeling doubling as she sent the arrows flying into the trees.

Burning green eyes landed on him with such an intensity, he was sure he would be the next to be pierced with one of her arrows. “I’ll explain _later_.” More arrows flew into the trees, hitting their targets with soft _whumps_ and muffled cries and grunts of pain as their attackers fell to the forest floor. “Now, get that goddamn trap off my leg!” Her eyes left him in favor of whatever was coming their way, and he noted, with no small amount of dread, that her supply of ammunition was dwindling. Quickly, Soul scuttled over to her leg, knees dragging across the dirt and sparse grass in a way that made a small part of his mind cringe against the oncoming stains and his lack of a Tide-Stick. His dirty hands hovered over the strange orb carefully, uncertain how he was going to go about freeing this strange deer-woman, when said leg twitched and jerked violently. His head snapped up in alarm, but the woman only grimaced slightly and shot another arrow. Throwing caution to the wind, he moved to press his hands to the shimmering surface, but as soon as his skin made contact, it kind of just... _vanishes_ , the vector-blades disappearing along with it.

“It’s gone!” He exclaimed, hands still hovering over where the orb had been. She didn’t look. Instead, she scrambled to her feet, nearly falling over again when she tried to put weight on her wounded leg. Soul could almost see her physically swallow down the pain as she slung the quiver across her chest, the lone arrow rattling loosely. He could see that the hollow sound didn’t concern her as much as it did him. Blood continued to pump from the wound on her leg, and he was more than a little worried.

She extends her hand out to him, the sound of ever nearing attackers finally reaching his ears. “We have to go. You’ll have to ride on my back.”

“What? But-But your leg and-!” He splutters protests, but an enemy blade slices through the air beside his ear, barely missing her flank and burrowing itself into a nearby tree’s bark.

Black tendrils snake from the blade and onto the wood, the surface darkening as the apparent rot extends farther and farther across the tree's face. She doesn’t waste time asking again. Instead, she shoves her hand under his arm, yanking him painfully up with her hand gripping his armpit, and slings him onto her back haphazardly like a ragdoll. She takes off, shooting like a bullet through the trees without waiting for him to get situated. He yelps and instinctively wraps his arms around her waist, feeling the powerful muscles flexing as she runs and leaps over fallen trees and rocks. He thinks they’ve lost whoever came after them, but when he looks behind him, there are dark figures chasing them, and gaining speed. One pulls up alongside them, and the woman simply pulls the remaining arrow free and in one smooth movement, plunges it into the chest of the creature. It lets out a high squall as it drops and writhes, black cloak slipping away from its bone white face to reveal it’s bare skull that is decidedly _not_ human. Soul feels a little queasy.

Three more bone-faced creature _things_ gain on them, and she makes a small noise of annoyance, reaching to the worn leather belt around her waist to unsheath a glittering knife. Its blade is beautiful, obviously hand sharpened and carved, with a pearly ivory antler for its handle. Soul’s eyes flicker to the woman’s own antlers, the same polished white and intricately curving and twisting to the sky. He watches as she takes the blade and slashes it through her bow’s string, her lips pressing together as the relieved pressure sends the severed string across her forearm, kissing open a deep gash as it slices open her skin. Before he has time to wonder just why in the hell she’d ruin her only weapon, a giant blade flips out seamlessly from the not-so-delicate curve of the bow, snapping into place like it was meant to be there. It’s curve had fit perfectly along with the bend of the bow’s body, hiding almost in plain sight. She twirls it with practiced ease. Despite her various wounds and his extra weight, she continues to run without error or loss of breath. With a small cry of exhilaration, she slashes out with her scythe, easily cutting down their attackers as their blackened blood spurts in their wake.

She leaps over a large tree trunk, hooves never coming close to brushing its mossy surface as she clears it entirely. With the scythe in one hand, blood running down her wrist and hand to seep over its shaft, she runs her other thumb through the trail, and twists slightly to reach behind her to smear it across his forehead. He can’t help but to be reminded of the scene from The Lion King when the monkey does the same to Simba. “Wha-?”

“We’re almost to the border, and you won't be allowed in without it.” She says seriously, brows drawn together as they continue on. He looks over her bare shoulder, mentally cringing at the feeling of the wind drying the sticky substance to his skin, but he sees nothing that would indicate this so-called ‘border’, only more and more trees as far as his eyes can see. He wants to question her on this ‘border’ and these things that tried to kill them and what exactly she is, because he wants to say she’s a centaur, but aren't those the horse-people? All of this is honestly just so much to take in at once, he’s almost entirely convinced that Wes’s cooking as finally sent him into some sort of microwave-ramen-induced coma and this is just a dream.

“It’s coming up, hold on. Hopefully you won’t be thrown off or killed.”

“What!?” He yells, quickly tightening his arms around her middle and burying his face into her sweat-slicked shoulder blades as he squeezes his eyes shut and prepares for death.

Something feels...weird. He opens his eyes just as the feeling disappears, shimmering blue sparks shift back into place behind them, once again creating the illusion of an empty forest indistinguishable from the one they had just fled from. Soul sits up, his grip loosening as he takes in the scenery around him. Feeling much safer in the fact that she’s no longer rocketing through the wood and he’s less likely to be thrown, he removes his hands and rubs them self-consciously on his jeans. Part of him feels really uncomfortable with all the touching and holding, but unless he wanted to fall and break his neck, holding on to her bare waist was the best and only option he has. He tries to swallow his anxiousness at the whole ordeal, feeling significantly more awkward sitting astride her back now that his life is no longer in mortal danger, and instead focuses on his new surroundings.  

All around them are huge trees, taller and more robust than the ones they were surrounded by mere moments ago, their bark seeming to be missing in favor of polished and smooth wood, like the kind found in an upscale home. He wonders how they’re so alive, thoughts drifting back to basic science when they were told that trees need their bark to live. He figures that chalking it up to magic would usually seem preposterous, but considering he’s riding on the back of a deer-centaur-girl, magic definitely seems logical enough.

The trees are like giants, tall and towering, their branches reaching out as if to embrace one another, forming a quilt of leaves and creating a canopy. He looks up and watches the sunlight break through the patches, the rays filtering through to gently light their way. As he continues to look about in wonder, he figures he should probably ask where she’s taking him. “Where are we going?” He asks quietly, almost as if he were worried that if he talked too loudly, the trees would uproot themselves and flee like a flock of birds. He notices that the tree’s roots are sticking out from the gentle slope they sit upon, curving and twisted much like her bow-turned-scythe, their coloration the same as their bodies. Their likeliness to giants is becoming that much more plausible.

“My home, to my people.” She says in the same manner of tone, quiet and careful, but something tell him that it’s not for the same reason as his. He notices that her breathing is quite labored, and he’s then reminded of her wounds. “Listen-”

“Soul.” He supplies, hands removing themselves from her waist, “You should let me down, you’re hurt and I don’t want to-”

“No,” She stops walking so abruptly, he smacks into her back with her own momentum. “I need you to listen to me right now. I’ll be fine. You must be careful around my people. Don’t say anything unless you’re spoken to, and even then, be hesitant. We are not to trust humans and they very well may try to kill you.” She’s looking at him over her shoulder, the stray rays of sunlight glinting off her antlers beautifully and alighting her eyes in such a way that they shine brighter and greener than any of the foliage in these woods.  A lump forms in his throat, and he tries to tell himself that it’s because he could possibly _die_ soon and _not_ because she’s quite possibly the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen. Her gaze softens a fraction, flickering over his form before landing back on his face. “They should be much easier on you because you saved my life.”

Soul feels his face burn, his hand rubbing his neck anxiously as he looks anywhere but her face and her ridiculously toned upper body. “No problem, ah, I’m sure anyone else would’ve done the same thing.”

Her smile is knowing as she turns her head and begins walking once more, small hooves gently treading over fallen leaves and a bed of soft grass. “Well, thank you, nonetheless. You put your life on the line for me, and that’s not something very many have done before. Without you, I surely would have died, or worse. Shinigami will have to take that into consideration upon your meeting.”

“Wait, who?” He asks, leaning forward to look at her face over her shoulder, when she suddenly stops again, eyes wide and blank. She whispers something under her breath that he doesn’t catch, and he thinks he hears something coming towards them from around the bend in the path ahead of them. He tenses, thinking it’s the creatures from earlier. “What is it?” He whispers, afraid whatever that is coming might hurt them.

“Shh,” she hisses, straightening her back and meager clothes with such quick precision and skill he can only assume that she’s been in a position similar to this many times before. She holds her scythe in a two handed grip in front of herself, arms straight down and her chin is tilted up ever so slightly as two more of her kind come galloping their way. Soul gulps as he sees the large swords in the men’s hands, one’s fur a shimmering blonde, a much brighter yellow hue than her’s, and the other’s a sleek black. They come to a stop before them, automatically bowing before her, their front legs bending as they place their hands over their hearts and duck their heads. He tries to do his best to hide behind her while simultaneously trying to look around her to see what's going on, and he feels like a small child hiding behind his mother’s legs. He waits for them to speak, but instead she...sings. He isn’t entirely sure how she makes the sounds that she does, he’s spent his entire life around music, both instrumental and vocal, but he has never heard something like this. It’s almost...other-worldly, the most gorgeous thing he’s ever heard, and when she stops, the man with black hair sings back, his voice rising and falling smoothly. Soul realizes that this must be their language.

He freezes when the blonde’s gaze finally lands on him, and he murmurs something too low for Soul to hear. As soon as the other man sees him, he raises his sword, its blade long and darker than night. He says something to her, and she holds up a hand, her other still gripping her scythe, and she sings something fast, shaking her hand in attempt to halt the man’s movements. Almost reluctantly, he lowers his weapon, eyes glancing between the two of them, and after a moment of her melodious insistence, his gaze finally switches to her hind leg and the gash on her arm. His eyes widen, and he sheaths his sword in the scabbard strapped around his waist. He holds his hands out to her, as if asking for her hand or her weapon, Soul isn’t sure, and after a moment of hesitation, she gently lays her scythe into his awaiting palms. As soon as his fingers close over the smooth wood, she lays her hand over them, giving him a stern look as she shakes a finger at him, singing commands and warnings to him as he nods seriously. Once satisfied that he understands her wishes, she looks at Soul over her shoulder, eyes bright and a small, pained smile curling at her lips. “Ah, do you think you could walk the rest of the way? My leg is beginning to hurt..” He nods furiously, clumsily trying to figure out how exactly to get off her back. He’s only ever seen real deer in passing before, early in the mornings on his way to school and such, but he’s quite sure they’re a bit smaller than she is, seeing as she could carry his weight no problem and his feet can’t touch the ground when he’s astride her.

Once he’s finally slid off her, she cracks her human back and places her hand into the blonde’s awaiting one, her free hand settling on Soul’s shoulder. The man with her scythe is on Soul’s other side, and he feels uneasy having him there. He can almost feel the tension rolling in waves from the man, and he’s afraid that the rest of her people will be the same. He hopes not. She seems nice and everything that’s he’s seen and heard is so interesting and incredible, he can’t imagine not learning more. He glances at her from the corner of his eye, her delicate fingers digging into his shoulder when she jostles her leg too badly. The adrenaline rush must’ve worn off, and she was finally feeling the pain. Soul thinks she must be their version of royalty. Maybe not the queen, since she sounded so concerned over this ‘Shinigami’ person, but maybe a princess? Or the female equivalent of a duke or a lord? Soul wasn’t very fluent in how a monarchy’s government worked, so he was really just taking a stab in the dark. Unless they treated everyone like this in her society, that’d be kind of cool, he thinks. They walk in relative silence for awhile, save for the crunch of leaves under their feet and her occasional pained hiss. He notices the two men keep glancing at one another. Feeling that it can’t do any harm, Soul looks at her, and quietly asks, “Can they speak English?”

She gives him a small, amused smile, as if he were a child and she was waiting for him to ask the obvious. “Yes, most of my people can.” He feels a wave of embarrassment, and he suddenly feels very small under the gaze of these three, towering deer-people. A small laugh escapes her, and she gives him a kind smile. “By the way, my name is Maka.” At his surprised look, she laughs again, and he can’t decide if he likes her singing or her laugh more. “You told me your name earlier. Soul, right?” He nods dumbly, and she gives him a small nod in return. She gestures to the man on her left, "This is Clay, and the one beside you is Akane." Soul nods vaguely, ruby eyes glancing at each man in turn, and Maka flashes him another small smile. “You may talk to each other, you know.” She prods gently, and both of the men look his way. Soul clams up, his hands feeling slick and his face burning again. They both look away with amused smirks, and Maka gives his shoulder a squeeze, this one encouraging instead of a way to alleviate pain.

They near the end of the canopied path, the trees and their arms branching away from one another to open out into a large circular area. Soul feels his legs start to lock up in protest, suddenly realizing just how out of his element he truly is. Maka seems to realize this, and she gives his shoulder another encouraging squeeze, gently prodding him forward as they clear the tree line.

All movement seems to stop, every centaur in the opening are frozen to the spot, eyes wide and hands hovering over whatever they'd been doing. Soul instinctively tries to back away, feet itching to run and hide far away from the hundreds of staring eyes. As quickly as the shock happened, it passed, and the crowd before them ascends into a crescendo of music, even their shouts sounding inhumanly gorgeous. Maka holds up her hands, dried blood painting her palms and fingers, and they all begrudgingly fall silent. She sings to them softly, her voice calm and lilting gently. Soul doesn't know what she's saying, but he immediately feels calmer and lulled, part of him wants to just lay at her feet and sleep. He sways on his feet slightly, and she squeezes his shoulder almost painfully to snap him out of it.

She bends down so her mouth is close to his ear, blonde hair tickling his cheek as she says, "They don't trust you and at least twenty want your head on a pike." Soul gulps, looking at each of the faces and picking out the ones he thinks want him dead the most. Figures that would be his luck. He saves a supernatural creature and then all of her friends want to kill him. Honestly, he wishes he were just a little bit more surprised. “Stick by me and they will not touch you, understand? Clay and Akane will keep you safe as well.” Soul sends the men in question wary glances, and she chuckles softly in his ear, breath ghosting over his cheek. “I promise you can trust them.”

Maka pulls away with a smile, and he nods uncertainly. She mimics the motion before her eyes flick over his shoulder, and she sings something to Akane, jerking her head in the general direction of his left, and he nods and bows before leaving her scythe in his hands. “Where’s he going?” Soul asks, curious eyes following the man as he wades through the crowd, the masses of hybrid creatures parting either because of the giant weapon in his hands or because of some social standing, he isn’t sure.

“I sent him to our weapon engineer. I _do_ need my bow fixed sometime soon, and I should see about getting more arrows.” Her face turns thoughtful for a moment, and for the umpteenth time that day, he feels totally dwarfed by these people’s attitude. As if their height and power wasn’t enough to adapt to, Maka is already thinking about picking up new weapons as if it were her grocery list. She rocks back slightly, the action looking like some sort of natural idle action, as if she were waiting for someone. She hisses in pain, obviously having forgotten her injury again. “Ah, I should see to this,” she mumbled absently, bending awkwardly in an attempt to catch a glance at her leg. Soul marvels at her ability to completely disregard the copious amounts of people staring at her. Or, staring at him, rather. He tries to pretend that their collective gaze doesn’t make him feel as if he were drowning, fails, and instead opts to train his gaze on her antlers as she straightens herself once more. He could’ve swore that only male deer had them, but maybe things worked different for magical beings.

He wants to ask her—his mind is overflowing with questions, but what if he offended her? She could easily throw him to the metaphorical wolves and leave him for dead. Clay murmurs something into her ear, and she waves him away with that same knowing smile. "Go, I'll be fine. Word should have reached Stein by now." She catches his attention, as she seems prone to do, and his mind immediately spins into who this 'Stein' person was. Again, as the mob of still-angry centaurs parts, a mop of silvery hair is seen above the crowd.

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear." Clay mutters lowly as he walks away, the sullenness of the statement drawing a tinkling laugh from Maka. As he passes, the gathered people dissipate, grumbling lowly and sending Soul angry glares. Once everyone had mostly cleared, the man raises his hand in greeting, a burning cigarette held between his fingers. He was impossibly _tall_ , his fur shimmery silver, though the hair atop his head was rather dull. His antlers, er, _antler,_ was the same pearly white as Maka's, but it was much thicker and wider set, with more points than hers. Where the other would be was just a broken shard jutting from his head, and the sight made Soul more than a little nauseous.

This must be Stein.

“Gone and hurt yourself again, have you?” The doctor sings as a greeting, a thin trail of smoke lazily swirling from the burning cherry of his cigarette. Maka narrows her eyes a fraction, her hand squeezing the gash on her arm shut as she gently tries to pull back her waning magic from the wound. Blood dribbles over her fingers, her carefully held magic no longer holding the veins closed. She hisses and reluctantly allows her power to wash back over the problem.

“Hello to you, too.” She mutters dryly, side-eyeing the strange human she managed to pick up. As much as he tried to hide it, he was absolutely fascinated with everything, his expression reminiscent of a child in a sweets shop. Feeling more than a little tired and drained, she reluctantly forces herself to switch gears, and instead speaks in English. “Would you mind speaking so Soul here can understand as well?”

With an exaggerated smoke filled sigh, he tilts his head in the general direction of her companion, “Hello, Soul, is it?” The man nods slowly, eyes obviously trained on the scar bisecting the doctor’s face. Maka was silently thankful he had a shirt on- she didn’t think Soul would be able to handle the patchwork mess of skin beneath that outrageous turtleneck. The thought made her feel a little twist in her gut. If such a simple thing like scars made Soul feel so skittish, what would he think of her? Her skin was certainly no better than Stein’s, though she was just better at making them less noticeable. “So, care to tell me what the problem is?” He asks, redirecting his attention to the problem at hand.

Maka’s jaw clenches, her aches and pains hitting her with such a sudden burst, she almost bites her tongue. Her magic was waning, and she couldn’t hold both wounds shut and cancel out the pain for much longer. “I was doing my rounds and they must’ve been tracking my route,” she starts, tone obviously implying that she was about to continue, but the doctor doesn’t pay it any mind.

“We’ll have to change it then. Alert Shinigami and warn the others.” He says before taking a leisurely drag of his cigarette, stray rays of light cutting across the glass of his lenses and hiding his eyes. Despite his apparent disinterest, she knew him well enough to sense a slight thread of concern in his tone.

“Yes, I was planning to do so after I saw you.” She swallows, looking back to Soul only to find him already looking at her. His gaze immediately shifts, face red and his lips set into a line. “Clearly, I have quite a few things to report.” Maka clears her throat, shaking herself of her anxiety pertaining to a certain human and his inevitable meeting with her ruler. “Ah, anyway, I stepped into a foot trap, and Soul saved me.” She wraps up lamely, horrendously under-exaggerating the actuality of the events that had transpired. She didn’t think it was possible, but his face managed to burn a deeper shade of red. Human’s were strange- getting embarrassed over something so simple as the truth. Maybe he wasn’t used to being a hero. Stein begins to make his way toward her, almost moving in slow motion as to savor his cigarette. “They sent more than usual this time, and I used all my arrows. I had to use my last resort.”

He nods in understanding, pulling in a final drag before dropping his burning addiction into the soft meadow grass, and stomping it out with his hoof. “Let’s get started then, yes?” He says with a too enthusiastic clap of his hands, easily closing the gap between them and grabbing her arm with one hand while rifling through his waist pouch with the other. Stein examines her arm with a critical eye, producing a small vial sloshing with clear liquid. He shakes it with a few quick flicks of his wrist, and the liquid turns a deep purple. Humming lowly, he wedges the vial into a crook between two points in his antler, freeing his hand so he can plunge it back into the pouch at his waist. She spares another glance at Soul, only to find his face screwed up as if he were trying not to laugh, or cry. Maybe both.

Stein finally pulls his hand from the seemingly endless depths of his pouch, producing small, white cloths, wrapped up into tight rolls, sitting inside clear vials. Pulling the cork out with his teeth, he plucks the little white towelette from it’s container and swipes it across her forearm with practiced ease, clearing away the drying blood. “Here, hold these,” he says, tossing the pink-stained wipes at Soul, taking obvious joy in the discomfort he causes. Soul makes a disgruntled noise, holding the wipes in his outstretched, cupped hands. With a roll of her eyes, she plucks the offending objects from his grasp, clucking her tongue teasingly as she crumples the damp rags in her fist. Stein finally unwedges the purple vial from his antler, twisting and turning her arm in attempt to get a better look at the wound from all sides. “Hm, alright then. This’ll probably hurt.”

Maka opened her mouth to ask _what_ exactly was going to hurt, the bubbling purple liquid looking more and more untrustworthy by the minute, but he was already uncorking it and moving to pour it onto her gash. “What’s that-?” She cus off with a pained yelp, gritting her teeth as she grabs Soul’s shoulder in an attempt to anchor herself. “ _Ah, fuck._ ” She hisses as the liquid scorched itself deeper into her tissue, burning away any bacteria as it knits her skin back together.

Stein, now crouching awkwardly at her flank, pinches her beneath her ribcage. “ _Language,_ ” he says admonishingly. “There are children present.” Soul splutters indignantly, trying to see around Maka to glare at Stein, who simply hums contently as he rummages around his pouch and prods at her leg.

“Well, you’re lucky you didn’t sever your vein _and_ your tendon.” He says after a moment, the grip on her leg almost hard enough to hurt. Maka winces. He is disappointed in her- upset that she’d been so foolish as to not notice when she was both being followed and that she was being goaded into a trap. A fresh wave of shame washes over her, and she averts her eyes as he works silently. “Did you use your magic on this?” He asks tonelessly, true to her feelings of his disappointment- he was shutting her out as punishment. She hums an affirmative, not trusting in herself to face him. She doubts this day could get worse, but she had yet to face Shinigami, and she could only assume that death itself would be more merciful than finishing this day. As if falling into a trap, accidentally collecting a human, and disappointing her favorite teacher and friend wasn’t enough- she still had to try to calm to collective minds of her people and hope against all hope that she could get to Shinigami before the gossip does. She didn’t like her odds. “Hm, well, since you used your magic _and_ the cause of the wound was no doubt enchanted, I don’t want to add another external magic to the pile. For now, I’ll clean it, put some of that ointment Kim made, and wrap it up. I’ll give Shinigami and Sid direct instructions that you’re not to go on another patrol until I approve."

“What? That's not fair!" She cries indignantly, face flushing as her hands clench at her sides. "I'm the best one to be sent out, you know that! Taking me off course is-"

"The best option for right now." He says with finality, standing once more as he places another cigarette between his lips. "Going out in this state is the equivalent of a death wish, not only for you, but for the rest of us as well."

Maka scowls, but once she caught a glance of Soul from the corner of her eye, she relents, albeit begrudgingly. He looks scared out of his wits, and she has to remind herself what Stein must look like to him; a giant, angry, scarred up creature who could probably kill him without another thought. She forgets that not _everyone_ had spent the last few hundred years getting used to his facade.

“Fine, I'll...find something else to do, I guess." Stein immediately brightens, flashing her a smile as he pats her head like a child.

"See? You'll be fine not putting your life in danger." He says cheerfully, patting himself down as if he were looking for something. After a moment, he sighs, unlit cigarette dangling precariously between his lips as he give Maka an almost pleading look. “You don’t happen to have a match on you, do you?”

She gives him a look at she’s sure BlackStar would label as ‘fucking done’, and says, “Do I _look_ like I have a match on me?”

He frowns at her as she smiles, and she almost swallows her own tongue as she hears Soul quietly mumble, “I dunno, I think you look pretty hot.”

Both centaur’s eyes immediately land on the human, taking him by surprise as he stares at them with a dumbfounded look as it dawns on him that they can hear him. At this point, Maka’s worried for his health, positive that it should be impossible for his face to be so red. Stein cackles quietly as Soul buries his face in his hands, beyond embarrassed, and Maka just manages to catch Stein’s breathless, wheezy, ‘I love this kid’ as she awkwardly pats his back, her own stupid grin alighting her freckled face.

After coaxing Soul’s hands away from his face, Maka leads him away from the clearing and a still laughing Stein, all soft smiles and freckled skin. The ground here looks soft, the grass a gentle fur that coats the trail in a softly swaying carpet. He follows along diligently, careful to stay only a step or two behind her, not wanting to miss out on a single detail the further into her home they go. Her hands are folded carefully in front of her, fingers tangled together as she tilts her head back, allowing the stray beams of sunlight to bathe across her skin. Her hair is tangled and dirty, stray leaves and small twigs stuck in the golden locks from her fall in the woods. She clears her throat to catch his attention, “So, uh, I need to take you to meet my clan’s leader.” Straight to the point, then. Ever since she had mentioned it earlier that day, he’s been worrying about it, his thoughts constantly drifting over it, like the rushing waters of a river lathering over a stone.

“Oh?” His voice squeaks. _Squeaks_. He couldn’t embarrass himself more if he tried.

“Yeeaahh,” she drawls, finally looking at him with those intense green eyes, an apologetic tilt to her eyebrows. “You could call it...protocol, I suppose. You know, report in when you break an arrow, when you find an apple tree, when your life is saved by a human—that sort of thing.” Soul manages a nervous sort of laugh, though it sounded more like he was choking on his own tongue, but it drew a smile from Maka nonetheless. “Honestly, it should go pretty well as long as no one else has managed to drag a human into the village.”

“Does this sort of thing happen often then?”

“Well, the last incident of this sort was about seven hundred years ago, give or take. So, no, not really.” He feels his throat start closing up in panic, his chest constricting as he thought of this meeting. Maka was downright terrifying in her own right, Stein more so than that, and he could only imagine what her leader would be like. She seems to notice this, and she slows her pace enough to be able to lightly rest her hand on his bicep, lips lifting into an encouraging smile. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Worst case scenario, I get a slap on the wrists and you get sent home.” Her face didn’t give away any sign that she might be lying,so he did his best to accept her reassurances at truth and carry on to meet his fate with his head held high and heart rate in a range that wasn’t fatally high.

Her hand lingers for a second longer before she once again folds them in front of her, chest rising and falling with steady breaths and face smoothed into an almost-regal disinterest.  “I’m sure word has already reached him,” she murmurs lowly, stopping entirely to regard him with a critical eye. Her mouth screws to the side, and her hands reach for his head, deft fingers fiddling with his headband to adjust it into some semblance of neat. Her hands yank at the top button of his shirt, pulling it free from the fabric entirely and leaving the collar open and showing an  almost ridiculous amount of his chest. “Sorry, gotta make you seem more the part. He might go easier on you if you look like the disheveled warrior. Probably not, but maybe.”

“So you ruined my shirt for nothing then?”

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to cry over a button.”

“I just might.” She rolls her eyes, but smiles nonetheless, grabbing his arms and turning him to face back down the path. She once again straightens her back and hold her head high, much in the same way she had when they were intercepted by Clay and Akane.

Maka begins forward once again, taking deep, controlled breaths as she gently lays her hand on her arm where the wound had been. The skin is bruising and red, fixed yet still marred. “Remember what I told you, don't speak unless spoken to, watch your words and manners, and for the love of all that is good, _don't ask any questions._ ”

“Huh? Why?”

“What did I _just_ say?” For a moment, he’s sure he actually pissed her off, but her eyes hold a twinkle of amusement. “See? Already failing at the ‘no questions’ part. Just…let me handle it, okay?” He nods and she flashes him a final smile before taking that final leap and turning around the slight bend in the road, arriving at another clearing, smaller than the one before and the tree nestled in it’s center was smaller as well, holes hollowed into the wood to make...windows? He watches in fascination as a section of the wood seems to just disappear entirely, making way for a door and allowing a _giant_ centaur to emerge.

He’s incredibly large, in every meaning of the word. From his height to his mere lean sort of bulk to his tall, tall, _tall_ antlers- bone white and reaching for the heavens, points and branches tangling together in their trek towards the sky. His body is pure black, darker than space itself and just as encompassing, seeming to suck in and swallow all light. His face is more deer-like than human, elongated snout and all, and a white pattern that resembled a skull painted his face, circling around his eyes like a mask. He regards them with cold gold eyes, hands folded behind his back as Maka bows deeply, soul following suit, just in case. He sings to her in a deep rumble, the sound low and commanding of respect, yet still to Soul’s utter amazement, it was beautiful in it’s own right. He couldn’t count how many artists he had classes with, let alone those around the world, that would give their left arm to be in his position, out of hope to one day recreate these sounds. Hell, some would kill just to be able to _hear_ what he’s hearing, just to bask in it’s beauty. He watches as Maka speaks to her leader, straight backed and regal as ever. She must be talking about their meeting, if the way her hands fly and gesture as she talks is any indication.

Shinigami nods along thoughtfully, one hand scratching the underside of her jaw carefully as his gaze flickers between the two of them. after a moment, he sighs, singing something softly under his breath. The smile she gives is absolutely blinding, brighter than even the sun, and he can’t help but to think that she’s the most stunning creature he’s ever seen. She sings something ever and over again, bowing deeply agains before whirling away and tugging Soul along with her, megawatt smile lighting up his very life. “Good news and bad news; good news, you can live and you can stay, if you want. Bad news? You have a curfew.”

 _“What?_ ”

* * *

_Three Days Ago..._

He shows up later than he expected, the sun already beginning to sink low in the sky, thereby drawing out the deep shadows of the already dim forest. At this point, he no longer pays attention to the way his feet are taking him, allowing memory to override his muscles as he thinks of other things. It's been months, he realizes with a start. Months since he began hanging around this group of incredible people- people that he'd almost consider a family at this point.

His feet crunch over scattered twigs, and his bag bangs against his thigh as he leaps over a fallen branch. Soul fingers the tiny vial hanging from the thread around his throat, a habit he’s noticed he's taken up ever since Maka had given it to him. He reaches into his pocket as he draws nearer to the invisible barrier he knows to be there, turning off his phone as the magic shimmers and shifts over his skin.

It feels almost freeing to be away from the ‘regular’ world, cut off from school and work and the mundanity of his day-to-day life. Wes, now fully convinced that Soul was either selling narcotics or sneaking off to follow in his brother’s footsteps and play with his fling of the week, has finally found it in himself to not worry like a mother hen every time Soul shows up at midnight covered in dirt and sweat.

‘ _Found yourself an exobitionist, have you?’_ his brother would tease, moving to heat up dinner while Soul trudges his way to the shower. ‘ _I have to say I’m jealous- been trying to find myself one for_ months. _’_

A breeze ruffles through the trees, scattering fallen leaves across the grassy expanse of the wide path. Soul has half a mind to call out for Maka, knowing full well that she'd hear him no matter where she was, but with his luck, she'd be in the middle of training and end up being stabbed, and honestly, he'd rather not have to be at fault for her getting impaled for a second time.

He breaks into the main clearing not a moment later, fingers still methodically rubbing his necklace as his eyes scan for a certain blonde. Centaurs canter about, moving to and fro as they go about their duties and affairs, many simply congregating in masses to speak in excited tones. Soul belatedly notices the anticipated charge singing through the air, hanging low like a cloud and begging to release it’s hold. He carefully dodges around flippantly flapping tails and stomping hooves, ducking every few feet as to avoid a wildly swinging hand or dangerously bent rack of antlers. He shakes his head as he narrowly avoids being skewered, wondering exactly how they manage not to hurt themselves, let alone others, and how they somehow forget that they have an extra couple feet towering atop their head. Speaking of which, Soul spots the iconic single antler of the resident doctor, and he changes course, bobbing and weaving back toward the one person he seemed to know.

“Stein!” He calls out, raising a hand in the air in hopes of attracting his attention. The man turns, allowing Soul to catch a glimpse of who he had been speaking to, and greets him with a wave. Spirit and Marie wave cheerfully as well, shifting slightly as he approaches to make room in their little circle.

The doctor drapes his arm around his wife as she yawns, her tangle of golden hair carefully separated into two braids rather than it’s usual sleek style. “I had began to think you weren’t coming,” he comments with the barest wisps of a smile, as if he knew something Soul didn’t.

Spirit, on the other hand, was _not_ so casual with his teasing. “Are you kidding? The boy has been here everyday straight for the past month.”

“ _Two_ months!” Marie pipes up with a grin, her innocent exterior once again giving way to her apparent need to tease everyone she meets. Soul can feel his face flame and it takes everything he has _not_ to immediately turn tail and barricade himself in Maka’s tree.

“Y’know what? I don’t know why I keep coming here just to hear your sass,” He says with a roll of his eyes, hands clutching the strap of his bag almost protectively. He nearly jumps from his skin as an arm slings over his shoulder, the unmistakable smell of Axe Body Spray assaulting his senses.

“Their _sass?_ Dude, we all know you come here for Maka’s _ass_.” BlackStar says loudly, drawing the attention a few dozen people. Soul is almost a hundred percent sure that he’d rather be completely engulfed in flames than hear BlackStar speak another word. Luckily, his literal blonde savior appears at his side, glaring dagger at the blue haired centaur, her finger winding through his.

“You leave him alone! Shouldn’t you be somewhere right now? Like, anywhere else?”

Soul can practically see the light bulb flicker to life above his head as he snaps his fingers, “You’re right! Starry Night always gets Tsu in the _mood,_ if y’know what I mean.” There’s a simultaneous chorus of gagging noises as Stein, Spirit, Soul and Maka revert to their childhood way of dealing with disgusting information.

“Well, everyone, it’s been fun but it looks like Starry Night is forbidden and anyone trying to celebrate it will be banished immediately.”

“C’mon Maka, don’t be like that-”

“Don’t be gross.” She says simply, hand tightening around Soul’s. What the hell was Starry Night? He looked around for any sort of explanation, but found nothing. No telescopes or anything of the sort, but he still assumed it has something to do with the night sky, what that thing was, though, was completely beyond him. “Anyway, it’ll be getting dark soon, so if you want a good spot, you’d better get going.” BlackStar salutes and saunters off with a wink, tail flicking playfully as Tsubaki emerges from the crowd and walks along side him, a blanket draped over her arm.

Marie tugs on Steins arm as well, already beginning to drag him off, “Oooo, we’d better get going too then! See you guys later!” Maka waves as the pair makes their way off in the opposite direction of BlackStar and Tsubaki, and Spirit departs a moment later with his own farewells.

Maka turns to Soul with a mischievous smile, “You’re gonna _love_ this. Let’s go, before we get caught up with the traffic.” She tugs on his hand and he is helpless to follow her, something he had just accepted as his fate a long time ago. He follows her back along the familiar path to her treehouse, but instead of going inside, she rounds around the tree, free hand reaching out to brush against its smooth surface. There’s a small open space behind her tree, but for the most part, it’s all bushes and ferns and foliage, nothing of note. She sees the look on his face and shakes her head, opening her mouth and singing out in that wonderful language of hers.

The tree branches above shimmy and shake, loose leaves falling like rain around them, and Soul watches in wonder as a tree branch descends from the treetops, leaves close together to the point where they looked like they were sewn together. Maka drops his hand and strides over to the blanket of leaves and settles herself down on them, legs folded carefully beneath her. When he doesn’t move, she pats the space next to her, “Come on, now, don’t be shy.” With great reluctance, he sits down beside her, already seeing how he’s going to fall to his death when the tree does freaky shit again. He’s made peace with the fact that he’s probably going to die in some totally strange way that’ll probably have to do with magic at this point.

Once seated and ready, she belts out another tune, and the branch begins to rise back up through the trees, carefully weaving in and out of the various branches and stretching far beyond what anything made of wood should be able to do.

After a moment or two, the leafy platform breaks through the canopy of regular trees and branches, holding them out above it all like they were an offering to some ancient god. Which...now that he thought about it, wasn’t that much of a joking matter with Maka, and he begins to worry that they’re meant to be some sort of sacrificial lambs set out to slaughter. His worries begin to dissipate as all around them, dozens of other platform rise, centaurs laid about them and their eyes trained on the sky. Maka clears her throat, and begins speaking in a way that projected her voice, yet kept it soft, her head angled toward the sky, the endless depths of space reflecting in her pupils. “Long, long ago, the stars laid themselves bare at night, shining their beauty upon the world like a blessing, but those times have long since passed, and we are considered lucky for seeing a mere handful scattered across the endless expanse. That is why we celebrate Starry Night, to remember what we have lost. To remind ourselves of humility and the temporariness everything in life. If we could lose the very sky itself all those years ago, it’s likely we could just as easily lose each other and ourselves that easily.”

And with that, she reaches her hand into the air, and swipes left, the blankness that had taken up the sky gone and...and _filled_ with stars. Hundreds, thousands, constellations everywhere you look and celestial bodies so close it seemed like you just reach out and touch them.

“ _Wow._ ” He breaths, at a loss for any other words. It’s indescribable, and she reaches up and swipes again, and when _even more_ stars fill the sky, he half expects to pass out from wonderment. She shifts back closer to him and he can’t help but to lean into her, eyes trained on the sky but his skin seemed to scream at him to pay special attention to how warm her fur was and how close they were sitting. Luckily for him, she began speaking again, pointing out various bodies and constellations with practiced ease, her hand finding his in the dark, even as she continued to go on with her lesson. She pauses again, allowing everyone to drink in what was lost over time, all that they miss out on the day-to-day basis. “Maka, this is…” He trails off, trying to find the words that would sufficiently encompass what he was feeling. “This is incredible.”

She smiles at him so softly, so tenderly, his heart constricts in his chest. “Do you really like it?” She whispers, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Again, his gaze is drawn to the sky, to the smattering of star and the swaths of ethereal light. Really, if he thinks about it, there’s only one thing he _can_ do to show her how much it means to him.

Soul looks to her face, to the hopeful upturn of her lips and how the stars reflecting in her eyes seemed so much prettier there than in the sky. He shifts a bit closer and says, “Can I kiss you?”

“I was beginning to think you’d never ask,” She whispered as she leaned in, lips brushing his as she spoke, and he could help his grin.

“Always with the snark,” he mumbles before pressing his lips against hers, tilting his head a bit and totally _not_ swooning. Maka shifts closer, sliding her hands into his hair as their lips move in sync. Call him cheesy, call him a sap, call him whatever you want, but he swears, in that moment, they were perfect, they were safe, and honestly, he could kiss her for the rest of his life and never have another regret.

Then, Blackstar had to open his mouth. “What the hell, Maka!? Stop sucking face and show us some stars before _this_ one gets bored!”

* * *

_Present…_

They're everywhere, scuttling around like bugs as they lock their empty eyes on a target and attack. Screams are filling the meadow, none of them are prepared, their weapons left at home or in the armory. Maka brandishes her knife, trying not to let it's abysmal size get to her too much. All she needs is to get her bow, get her bow and get Soul somewhere safe. She backs away from the ensuing struggle, singing commands as she weaves through the throngs of her people, trying to rally them into something that at least resembles order. It's chaos. Children are crying and outraged screeches echo off the trees as a friend or lover is cut down before their partner's eyes. Maka tries to ignore how her chest constricts as she pushes her way out and toward her home. The path is surprisingly empty, but doors are held ajar and there are scattered belongings all around the mossy doorsteps. Most have fled back to the clearing, hellbent on saving as many as possible, but she can pick out those who left for their own safety. She wants to be angered at their cowardice, but if she was honest with herself, she wants to run too. The Spider Queen's forces are too large and things are looking bleak. It would be so easy to just grab Soul and run all the way back to Wes'. They'd be safe- she'd never come for them there. But it just simply wasn't in her nature to run from things.

Maka throws her door open with a bang, nearly losing her head in the process. She just barely avoids Soul's blade, the tip nearly kissing the skin of her throat. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" She hisses, moving to snatch the weapons from his hands. He dances backward with a determined glint in his ruby eyes, grip firm and ready.

“I thought you were one of those things." He says defensively, adjusting his hold on the handles of his dual hand scythes. "I put your bow in the living room," he adds at the sight of her reddening face. Luckily for him, that little bit of information lightened her mood considerably. She darts from the room, hooves clicking harshly against the wooden floor, and she returns not a minute later, quiver slung over her shoulder and overflowing with arrows. She must've grabbed every one she owned. Soul gives her a nod as he moves for the door, shoulders squared and his muscles tense. He really thought she was just going to let him march into battle, didn't he?

She hooks her hand under the collar of his leather jacket, yanking him back as she bends enough to be at eye level with him. "You're not going to fight."

"The hell if I'm not-"

“You're not." She says firmly, her grip tightening on his jacket hard enough to make the material creak in her hand. She taps the tip of her bow against his chest, "Listen to me. I've trained you well. I know that for a fact, but I'm not allowing you to put your life on the line." Soul gapes at her angrily, shark teeth bared in a soundless growl. Maka jerks him up a little higher, the toes of his boots just brushing the ground as she straightens. He's held at her height now, and she sees him swallow nervously. "You can handle yourself fine, but not against this." She says as calmly as she can, but even she hears the wobble in her voice. "None of us can. We weren't prepared, and their numbers are too much. I need you to get somewhere safe so I can try to actually make a difference and not worry about you too. Understand?"

Soul stubbornly shakes his head, despite the fact that his shirt and jacket are riding up awkwardly on his neck and arms. "No, I don't understand. Maka, if there's too many of them for even you guys to handle, then it sounds like you need all the help you can get."

"Not from you. I'm going to lose a lot of people tonight and I can't lose you too." Her voice quakes and cracks, causing Soul's eyes to widen as she gently sets him back on his feet. "Please, for once, listen to me when I say this. I can't and I won't let you do this. I won't let you die for me."

His lips press into a line, his jaw clenching as he tries to think of a way to argue with her in a way that would convince her to let him help. Soul sighs, his shoulders slumping as he glances angrily out the open door. "Fine, I won't do anything stupid."

Maka's knees feel weak with relief. She honestly thought she'd have to knock him out and hand him off to someone. She finally returns his nod as she marches out the door, notching two arrows on her bowstring as she leads them back across a smaller path, away from the meadow and toward Stein's clinic. They pop out just a few feet from the sloping doorway, the door hanging at an odd angle and a clatter of noises coming from inside. Maka tilts her head as she slowly approaches the threshold, shifting her fingers readily on on her bowstring. Carefully, she nudges the door open, half expecting to find one of the Queen’s soldiers rummaging through Stein’s array of odd medicines and herbs, but, it was only the man himself, along with Marie. Maka relaxes considerably at the sight of the two, loosening her hold on her weapon slightly as she takes in the sight of a large hiking backpack stuffed full of various weapons clothes and medicines. She raises a questioning brow at Stein as he unabashedly tosses a few more bottles into the bag.

“What?” He snaps irritably, grabbing the back buy the strap at the top and weighing it in his hand as he passes it along to Marie, who takes it with an annoyed roll of her eyes. “Do you expect me just to let her fight?”

It clicks then that Stein was simply doing the same as Maka- sending their loved ones away for their own protection. “No,” She says shooting a look at Soul as she gently herds him over to Marie’s side. “Just, take him with you.”

They all stop short, various shades of bewilderment clouding their features as they all say in unison, “ _What_?”

“Take him with you.” She repeats. “Don’t look at me like your all daft- I don’t want him here just as much as you don’t want her here.” The muscles in Stein’s neck tense, bulging as he considers her command. He nods after a moment, understanding full well how she’s feeling.

“I’m taking her to the north end- they can go straight on into town. We have a place set up there that should be safe.”

The thought loosens the knot in her chest slightly. She knows they’ll be safe there- far away from any of this. “Perfect, Soul has a brother there they can go to as well.” A distant explosion rocks the ground beneath their feet, and a shadow passes over Stein’s features. Maka tightens her grip on her bow, checks that her knife is hidden safely in the sheath at her waist, and gives Stein a final, encouraging nod. “I’m going to help. You get them to safety.” She pauses only to plant a selfishly lingering kiss on Soul’s forehead, singing something softly as her lips leave his skin. She practically throws herself out the door, running at a full out sprint back to the others.

Arrows fly one after the other as she draws closer and closer to the clearing, encountering more and more black clad soldiers as the screams get louder. She almost lets another go flying as her father hurtles out of the wood, red hair in wild disarray and his scythe glittering with black blood. He looks on the verge of tears as he spots her, changing course quickly to come wrap her in a tight hug, careful of his enormous blade. “Thank Shinigami, you’re okay.” He breathes, stepping away from her after a long moment to make sure she was, in fact, alright.

“He’s got nothing to do with it.” She says, more than a little pissed at the absence of her supposed leader. Spirit raises a brow, but doesn’t question her, instead opting to turning tail and taking off back to the source of the cacophony of sound- knowing full well that she would follow him. “I just spoke with Stein,” She sings, no longer seeing the need to speak in human language, as she shoots an arrow at the same soldier her father slices down. “He’s taking Soul and Marie to the north end so they can get away.”

“I figured as much.” He said breathlessly, giving his scythe an idle flick to rid it of blood. “I knew he couldn’t stand the thought of letting her be anywhere near here.”

“Can you blame him?” She asks, one of her arrows shattering through the head of a skull-faced enemy. “I doubt you would’ve let mother hang around this while she was pregnant with me.”

“Of course not!” He nearly shouts, obviously affronted. Maka merely shrugs, feeling that she made her point. They’re finally spit out at the end of the path, tossed immediately into the throws of battle. She loses her father in the fray, but judging by the path she can see being cut through the masses and the random sightings of his flame of hair- he’s doing just fine. She’s in too close of quarters to do much damage with her bow, she she instead slings it across her torso, fitting snugly between the string and the curve, she starts to simply jam the arrows into the chests of the Queen’s...things. They drop to the ground in a bloody wake, their tainted blood singing the ground as her throat begins to go raw with how she’s just constantly singing commands for her people to flee. She makes sure to keep her eyes up, the lump in her throat growing larger and larger with every pair of fallen antlers she spots from the corner of her eye. She's like a whirlwind of anger, cutting down one enemy after the other, her chest swelling with pride as her people come back with a surge of slashing blades and flying arrows.

She nearly loses herself in the fight, forgetting what was actually going on and just allowing her body to do the work for her, but she looks up just in time to see one of her students fall to the dirt with a spray of blood and a cry, followed by someone she's never seen before. They're tall and lanky, a large sword hanging from their one-handed grip loosely, the tip dragging deep gouges into the earth. They don't look to be one of the Spider Queen’s men, their face soft and almost taking on an air of innocence, rather than the blank bone of their comrades. A path clears for them, the fighting slowly skidding to halt as the newcomer walks almost lazily forward, the soldiers closing ranks and trying to form something that looked to be a barrier interspersed with war and death.

Maka stands in the middle of this clearing path, the continued sounds of battle still crashing upon her ears like the heavy beating of her heart. This new...soldier? Monster? She doesn't know what to make of them, choosing to instead focus on the amount of pure respect their comrades seem to show them. She stares them down fearlessly as they slowly come to a stop, only a few yards away. Maka moves to speak, steadying her stance and opening her mouth, but they cut her off without so much as truly focusing their empty gaze.

“I am Crona,” they say tonelessly, head lolling on their neck like a ragdoll’s might. “Give up before it’s too late.”

She bares her teeth like a cornered animal, her fingers itching to sever her bowstring and release her scythe blade. She's pleased to hear the chorus of negative shouts and curses, proud to know that if they're going down, they’ll all go down fighting. Her lips curl into a taunting sneer, eyes alighting in a sort of mad exhilaration. “It was too late the moment your people drew your first blade.”

She never expected Crona to move so fast.

They throw themselves forward, sword raised in preparation of a deadly slash, and Maka raises her bow just in time to block the deadly move. The force pushes her back, hooves gouging deep grooves into the dirt.

“So be it, then.” They say, almost sadly. “You all know what to do, try to keep it down, if you please—Mother would not be happy with anything less than what's left.”

With a horrible inkling sinking in her stomach, she readjusts her grip on her weapon and dashes forward swinging her bow at Crona’s face. They raise their sword as if they were blocking a rambunctious three year-old’s swing, their face not giving way to any sort of emotion. But the reaction is exactly what she wanted. The sharpened blade slices easily through the bowstring, relieving the pressure and sending the chord stinging across their face. Maka dances back as the pink-haired swordsman reels, a gash splitting across their cheekbone and leaking sludge-like black blood. She jerks the weapon violently, the giant scythe blade snapping into place with a sharp _snap._

Crona thumbs away the oozing blood, smearing a long streak across their face. Maka wastes no time leaping forward, swinging her scythe in a wide arc, aiming for their midsection. Their hand catches the blade, large pale eyes swiveling to level her with an unsettling stare. She swallows noisily as they thrust her scythe way, and she nearly trips over her own feet as she backpedals. They come at her again and again, each time coming closer and closer to causing harm. Allowing that poisoned blade anywhere near her blood screamed disaster. They came at her with a sloppy jab, but it was enough to force her under the swinging vines of the wisteria.

A curse slipped under her breath—she was as good as blinded in the thick of the swaying pink. She backs up slowly, carefully, ears pricking for any sort of sound that would alert her to Crona’s presence. Her backside bumps into the rough bark of the sighing wisteria tree, it’s soft hanging vines ghosting across her skin in gentle caresses that sharply contrast with her current predicament. She knows it feels the distress in the land, it’s roots drinking the regal blood of her friends and family, she can feel it’s saddened hums as the body count climbs higher and higher. With every careful stroke of its soft petals, she can feel the ancient magic begging her to flee, to see to it that her people follow and no more blood is shed. If only it were so simple, if only she could hold them in her hands as she ran for their lives, if only she could uproot their very colony and take them far, far away. She’s read every text their library had to offer, read every possible thing that had gone wrong in the past, what they knew of their enemy and how they could prepare to face them head-on. They never counted on them breaking past the barrier, never thought in their wildest dreams that Shinigami’s power would one day fail them in such a way that would lead to their downfall. Maka tries to steady her breathing allowing her heartbeat to fall into easy rhythm with that of the tree, her ears straining to hear something, anything. The clearing had gone horrifically quiet the moment Crona forced her into the shifting technicolor curtain of the wisteria. She still heard distant movement, the occasional clang of metal against metal, but there was nothing else. No cries, no screams, no... _anything_. Her heart tangles into a hardened knot, turning into a weight in her chest that threatens to drag her beneath the surface and drown her.

There’s the faintest shuffle, and in sudden flurry of movement, Crona’s face in mere inches from hers, deadly black blade held back only by her quick reflexes and Kilik’s incredible craftsmanship, but her scythe shaft is beginning to whine under the pressure. “My blood is black,” they whisper almost questioningly, pale eyes wide and wild as they stare into hers.

With a grunt and a heave, she forces them back a few steps, hands slick on her weapon as her opponent teeters dangerously on the spot. “So I’ve heard.” She says bitingly, teeth bared in an animalistic display of anger and fear and protectiveness. She very nearly snarls as they steady, matted periwinkle hair flopping over one eye as the other focuses on her with rapt attentiveness.

“Keep her, Crona.” They say to themself, voice strong and unwavering in comparison to their seemingly usual discombobulated mumble. “She’s nearly perfect for what I need. You’ll be punished if she is ruined.” They belt out a high laugh, one of a person who has their enemy’s fate laid bare at their feet and held completely at their mercy. The laugh of the Snake Witch. She tries to swallow the lump in her throat. Whatever Crona is, an upgraded version of the Spider Queen’s men or just something that had probably once been human, they were Medusa’s puppet.

Maka lashes out, throwing herself forward as she swings her scythe down in a vicious arc, half expecting to cause damage unlike the past attacks, but to no avail. The connection of her blade with their seemingly impenetrable skin is jarring, the force sending a deep ache in her bones and joints. She wets her lips as she steps back, unsettled by Crona’s unwavering stare. She’s been alive _way_ too long to be taken out by some minion of that snake, but she’s at a loss for what to do. No matter what way she try to run, they’d easily be able to cut her off, to the point where retreat was almost laughable. She’s considering the benefits of shrinking down to her human size, the pros of being smaller and the cons to being weaker, when they move. The tip of their sword very nearly jabs her in the eye, and she just barely dodges. Their lunges don’t stop though, and she’s once again being backed toward the tree, head carefully weaving away from the vicious stabs. She hits the tree and she knows she’s dead unless she can come up with a plan.

Almost as soon as the thought enters her head, more of the bone-faced soldiers appear at her side, clawed hands curved menacingly and blank eyes unsettling. All of her exits are blocked. Her teeth grit and her glare is deadly, and yet it still doesn’t affect Crona. Their only response is to raise their sword, ready to strike her down. Her mind kicks into panic mode. If Medusa asked for her alive, wouldn’t they listen? The idea of being taken prisoner isn’t exactly appealing, but it’s better than dead. Prisoner, she at least had a fighting chance, a possibility of escape and living. Dead was, well, dead, and she wasn’t quite ready for that.

Crona heaves their weapon down, face still blank and void of anything at all. Maka can’t help the way she grimaces when she blocks, the way her shoulders scrunch up around her ears and her eyes clench shut against oncoming blade. The haft of her scythe splinters and shatters, snapping in two and jarring her hands from the force of the impact, the wood simply giving way to the unstoppable force that is Crona’s sword. She takes the split second chance to kick out and send Crona back not even a foot, just enough room for her to whip her arms out to the side and jam the two ends of her broken scythe into the cloaked warriors. Black blood spurts as they fall away, her weapon fragments trapped in their chests and out her reach. She’s empty handed and they both know it, she’s trapped, backed into the corner of her den like a hounded fox. Crona winds up for another blow, and the only way she can see out of it is by dropping to her knees, tucking into herself, and hoping she can make herself small enough not to be hit. But in the process of that, she’d leave the vulnerable bark of the tree exposed, and she dreads to so much as _think_ of what could come from that cursed blade touching the ancient plant.

The wisteria tree has been their network, of sorts, for as long as she can remember, for as long as their history has been recorded. It’s their beginning and their end, it’s where babies are brought into this world and where their souls leave it, it’s their everything. Anyone in her clan would gladly give their life a hundred times over to keep the tree safe from such disastrous harm. It's in that moment that she settles on her fate, that she comes to terms with her death and what she’s giving up for the others. These revelations take mere seconds. Maka throws up her arms and shuts her eyes in an automatic response, knowing full well that their placement won’t have anything to do with her survival. She hears the swing of the blade, of the wind whistling past it’s sharp edges. She hears the sickening sound of metal against bone, the wet sound of blood and meat, but she doesn't feel it. For a moment, she thinks she simply died, and that it was so quick that she didn’t have the time to feel the pain, or perhaps that the tree had taken her soul swiftly to prevent such a pain to be seared into it. But she opens her eyes and she’s fine and alive, but the sight before her isn’t.

Black leather takes up her vision, white hair and slumped shoulders. His arms are thrown wide and she can see the lake of blood already gathering at his feet. He teeters, unsteady and already knocking on Death’s door. “Maka... _run_ ,” he wheezes just before he collapses, knees buckling and arms drooping bonelessly to his sides.

“ _Soul!_ ” His name tears from her throat, scraping and breaking as if it were being torn out with fishhooks. She lunges for him without thinking, without concern for the fact that she’d be throwing herself at Crona’s feet. Her fingers just brush the material of his jacket, barely ghost over the fabric, before she’s lifted from the ground, yanked away from the poor human laying face down in the dirt, bleeding all over the wisteria roots. She lets out a cry as she tips forward, arms pinwheeling as tears stream down her face.

_Magic._

The thought comes to her in a bitter punch, a pill sitting on her tongue and leaving a horrible taste in her mouth. She feels as if someone had turned off her gravity, though she stays floating in place, salty tears falling from her face like rain to splatter across Soul’s back. She screams an alternating stream of obscenities, pleas, and his name. Soul, Soul, _Soul._

Glowing, pale green plates shift into the air around her, sorting themselves into alignment, and settling into the shape of an almost rectangular box. Her gravity returns as the edges seal, her hooves clattering to the bottom noisily as she watches in horror as her little cage begins floating away, Crona leading it along like a lost puppy. No one rushes to Soul’s aid, no one hurries to his side. Broken sobs crash against the walls of her chest as she presses her hands to the magical barrier, a silent and desperate plea to be released.

Anger and frustration sweep over her in a rush, pushing the shattering in her chest to the wayside as red colors her vision. Red like the blood turning the ground into a muddy pit, red like her father’s hair as he’s wrestled into submission amongst the fallen corpses of their friends, red like Soul’s eyes.

She pounds her fists against the wall, screaming profusely as the tears continue with their trek down her face. Thin fingers seek out the crevices, searching for any weakness in the juncture of the barrier. Finding nothing, she belts out an enraged howl as she rears up her hind legs and _bucks._ The resistance is almost bone shattering, the reverberations traveling up her spine and shaking her down to her core. Her prison continues to move farther and farther away from the wisteria, it's willowy limbs brushing the ground and obscuring Soul from view. Another scream tears from her throat. Maka backs up as far her cage allows, and charges, antlers down and ready to pierce. Pain lances through her head and she thinks she feels once of her antlers crack.

She doesn't care, she tries and tries again, alternating between bucking and kicking and charging and punching- trying anything she can think of to weaken the walls of the box. Sticky blood runs in rivulets down her forehead, washing over her eye and filing her rage. She almost didn't notice when her floating prison came to a stop, several others all aligned in a semi-circle aside hers. To her left, her papa is slumped against the wall, a nasty gash running along his scalp just above his ear, and to her left stood Shinigami, tall and strong, hands folded behind his back as he stares almost blankly over the havoc. She punches the wall closest to her leader, fingers protesting against the abuse and teeth bared in a snarl. How dare he remain so calm, how dare he do nothing as their people are slaughtered like sheep? More and more magical cells drift into the clearing, lining up neatly into curved rows, as if they were awaiting Crona’s inspection and approval. Maka moves to rear up again, bones aching and begging for the constant abuse to end, but she ignores it, focusing on how many asses she’s going to kick as soon as she’s free. Before she gets a chance to crash her hooves into the wall, though, Shinigami’s voice drifts into her head, careful and measured in a way that only made her blood boil higher.

_“Stop. You’re doing nothing other than making a fool of yourself and causing your body harm.”_

Her fists clench at her sides as she carefully lowers her feet back to the smooth platform beneath her, eyes staring straight ahead. The tears have stopped, but all she can see when she so much as blinks is the spray of Soul’s blood just before he goes crashing to the ground. He _promised_ her he wouldn’t come back, that he’d go to the city, to his brother, where it was safe and she knew he would be far from harm’s reach. Her heart twists and aches in her chest, and her blunt nails dig into her palms. _“So now you care?”_ She thinks back angrily, mentally counting the ways he could have prevented half of this if only he had just _been_ there.

He shows no sign of her words effecting him, aside from the slight sigh he lets out through his elongated snout, golden eyes shutting as if the oncoming conversation was wearisome and childish. _“Maka, you must know that I_ do _, in fact, care. Other things required my attention and I-”_

 _“Save it. I don’t want to hear whatever petty excuses you have.”_ She thinks venomously, burning emerald gaze now locked on Crona as they saunter along the line of captured centaurs. Oddly enough, the sight of so many alive, captured, yes, but alive, relieves some of the weight off her shoulders. They were still living, they still had a chance. Her clan wasn’t going down without a fight.

Maka feels Shinigami rifling through her thoughts, and she ignores the way it sends unpleasant shivers down her spine and instead focuses on forcing him out, snapping her gaze to his blank face with an outraged glare. _“You’re angry because of the human, yes? You blame me for his death?”_

 _“Get fucked.”_ She snaps, both through their mental connection and verbally, forcibly shoving him from her mind and closing down all receptors to her leader. While he could easily force them open, if he so wished, she hopes he hadn't completely lost all sense of decency and would leave her be. Crona’s pacing comes to a halt in front of Shinigami’s cell, a sharp smile curling on their lips as their eyes once again claim that focused gleam, signifying that Medusa was in control. _What a coward,_ Maka thinks bitterly, _hiding behind her plaything to avoid the possibility of personal conflict._

“Oh my,” Crona coos in the voice that isn’t entirely theirs. “After all these years, and it only takes a little betrayal and a handful of space magic to capture the almighty Shinigami?” Crona moves forward, fingers ghosting along the hard surface of the magical prison as they circle the towering centaur. “If I’d known it’d be this easy, I would’ve done this a _long_ time ago.” He remains unruffled as ever, back straight and tall, his face, more deer-like than human, schooled into a look of blatant disinterest. It’s probably an act. He _must_ care that so many had fallen, that those remaining are beaten and battered and broken, that if any of them make it out of this, there is no going back. He can’t just regard all of this destruction without feeling _something_ , right?

Crona’s eyes flicker to the gathered cells, mouth pulling into something almost reminiscent of a pout, probably at Shinigami’s lack of reaction to their taunting. “Ah, well, now that we're all gathered, let's be off! Time waits for no one, as you all well know.” They toss a glance over their shoulder, eyes narrowing marginally. “Oh, Free? Eruka? There’s no reason to hide, come out now.” Maka shifts in her cell, craning her neck for a sight of these mystery people Crona- er. Medusa- was calling out to. She watches as two people slowly emerge from the surrounding forest. The tallest, she assumes is Free, all large, bulging muscles and covered in thick hair, he resembles a werewolf of old, the ones she remembers roaming the land back when she was but mere fawn. As for the girl, she’s at least two or three feet shorter than he is, hair long and a shiny platinum sort of silver, lips thin with two circular black dots resting at their corners- another witch, she’s assuming. Her familiar seems to be a...frog? She can see it in the subtleness of her features, almost having to squint to see the resemblances.There are collars around their necks and the wolf’s eye is glowing, presumably with the very same magic that held them all trapped like livestock.

A chorus of stomping hooves and clattering antlers fill the clearing, two dozen pairs of eyes locking on the newcomers as their prisoners immediately decide on their fate. _They're_ the ones to blame, _they’re_ the ones who turned lifted them away from their loved ones and shut them away to be carted off like merchandise. They look nervous, the girl especially, silvery eyes the same shade as her hair wide and her hands bunching the fabric of her skirt. The pair come to a stop in front of Crona, and Maka can practically _smell_ the magic and fear rolling from their skin in waves. She snarls and punches the glass-like surface, startling Eruka so badly Maka felt her cage weaken, if only for a moment.

Her gaze snaps to the others lined around her, and she locks eyes with Kid. She raises her brows in a silent question, and his head just barely dips in a nod. Break the witch’s concentration, and they're free. Golden irises flicker to the wolf and back, she nods. Taking the both of them out is their best chance to escape and survive. She watches as Kid relays the message on to the others, flowing and speaking into their thoughts much in the same way his father does. Each centaur straightens a bit as they catch the drift, and soon, the frog and the wolf are left facing down a mass of grinning centaurs, their eyes bright and hard. Crona whips around, lips curling into a taunting sneer. Maka’s smile is sinister, borderline crazed as she raises a fist, the others following suit, and in a giant, thunderous _bang_ they slam onto the walls of their cages in one, simultaneous fluid motion. The pale green wavers. Shinigami glances to his sides, sizing up his remaining people, and with an almost incredulous sort of smile, the deep black of his skin and fur recede into his hands, swirling and condensing into a giant, wicked scythe. A panicked look enters the swordsman’s eye, realizing just exactly was happening. Crona- Medusa- turns swiftly to Free and Eruka, “Don’t lose your focus!” They hiss, hands curling into claws at their sides. Their attention turns to the still waiting army hesitating at the circle’s fringes, “Don’t let any of them escape!”

Maka laughs, grin becoming infectious as the others join in. She looks to her left to find her father, now conscious and covered in blood, mimicking the look on her face. His smile seems to be of exhilaration, hope flickering in his eyes as he realizes they have a chance out of this. She wants to feel the same, she wants to feel hope swell in her chest and allow the prospect of tomorrow to become something tangible, but all she can think of, all she can see, is Soul laying in the dirt like a long forgotten toy. Her other hand slaps against the wall, and the sound reverberates as her friends and family do the same. They all repeat the actions, again and again.

_Punch, slap. Bang, smack. Punch, slap. Bang, smack._

It’s a chant, a war cry, a drummer marching ahead of the militia and thrumming a deadly beat. It’s the rhythm of their language, they open their mouths and sing their demand. It’s earth shattering and hauntingly beautiful, it’s dangerous and deadly. It’s a siren’s song of righteous retribution.

_Punch, slap. Bang, smack. Punch, slap. Bang, smack._

_Death. Revenge. Death. Revenge._

Free tugs at his collar nervously, strong arms herding Eruka behind his back as they try to retreat. At least he has the sense to know when to back down. Crona’s eyes flash as they stalk up to her cage, staring up at her with burning hatred that didn’t belong to them. She hits the walls harder, sings louder, begging the snake witch to do something about it. Just give her the opportunity, give her a chance to tear out her throat with her bare hands. A logical part of Maka’s brain reminds her that Crona may not even to be accountable for the blame, but she doesn't care, the chanting and the pounding of her clan demanding freedom overriding her senses and setting her veins raging in bloodthirst. Their lips curl back from their teeth, and Maka lunges at them, antlers clattering against the wall. Crona smiles. Maka growls, and to her right, Shinigami slams the butt of his scythe’s shaft against the floor of his cage.

All is silent for a beat, for two.

Then, the clearing bursts into a flurry of action. The space magic used to hold them captured dissipates, and Maka just barely catches the wide-eyed look of surprise on Crona’s face before she’s falling forward, hands and horns and hooves all angled and ready to hurt, to wound, to maim. They try to roll away, but one of her antlers catches their side anyway, and for once, it seems to cause real damage. Dark blood, black and deep, pumped from the wound and the eyes they looked at her with were not Medusa’s, but those of a scared child. “W-Where am I? What’s going on?” They whisper hurriedly, gaze darting about in fear, landing on her clan once again fighting the cloaked soldiers. For each of the Spider Queen’s minions that go down, another one of her people are once again armed, and something akin to pride and relief rises in her chest. “Mother isn’t going to like this. She’s going to be very angry, we’re going to be punished, Ragnarok.” They whisper reverently, curling in on themself as they press a hand to their wound. An angered cry tears its way from Maka’s throat as she scrambles up and throws herself away from the child. She needs the revenge, she needs to feel something than the pain and sorrow threatening to swallow her whole. She barrels into battle, fighting the warriors with deadly accuracy, and for a wild moment, she thinks that she could return to Soul’s side, that she could dive beneath the relative safety and cover of the wisteria tree and try to save him.

It might not be too late.

She then thinks about how she might react if she _does_ go there to find him dead, pale and bled out, dirt and leaves sticking to his face with his own blood. No, she can’t go look. She’s teetering on the edge enough as is. This way, he’s Schrodinger’s Soul, alive or dead until he’s proven he’s not. Maka takes down an enemy and comes face to face with Stein, his stolen weapon raised and ready to kill the one she just did. She might not be able to deal with Soul’s death, but he could. Stein is strong enough for anything. “Stein,” she pants, realizing how out of breath she is. “Soul, he’s- he’s...can you look for me? Please?” His eyes search her face for a moment before he’s off, bolting out of the fray and into the dancing blind of their sacred tree. She’s never been more thankful for Stein than she was in that very moment.

She plucks a fallen soldier's weapons from the ground, and she gets back to work, always trying to keep an eye out for Stein’s return, and soon, they’re left with nothing but piles of corpses, a bleeding teenager, and two missing witches. As upset as she was with Shinigami, she was glad he was here for this round. They might not have made it out alive otherwise. He cut down five of the enemy for every one or two that she did. Slowly, they congregate in the center of the clearing, tears streaming freely as everyone exchanges hugs, thankful to be alive and feeling the heavy weight of those who are not.

Stein canters out from beneath the tree, up to his elbows covered in shiny red blood. He wipes his hands absent mindedly on his waist, smearing the gore into his fur, and says, “He’s alive. Fire and Thunder were hiding in the tree during the fight, and they stabilized him the best they could, but I _have_ to get him to the clinic if we don’t want him to die.” Kilik, Clay, and Akane immediately leap to help, but Maka’s too busy sobbing into her hands to thank them.

_He’s alive._

The fact races through her head over and over again in blissful joy. Someone wraps their arm around her shoulders, and she looks up to find her papa, his own eyes wet with tears. She smiles and pulls him into a hug, pressing her face into his shoulder as everyone else slowly pulls together to turn this into one giant group hug, spreading the feeling of love and family and warmth from the outside in. Shinigami even gets caught up in the affection, wrapping one arm around his son, and the other around the Thompson sisters, bringing them close to his chest with a small smile resting on his face.  She glances around at her clan, at the people she’s known and loved for hundreds of years, and she can’t think of a single time she’s been more grateful for all of them. They have a long road ahead of them, first with laying their dead to rest and disposing of the witches’ tainted warriors, then...well, she’s not sure which step will come next. She’s not sure they’ll have the time to mourn properly until they find out where everything went wrong and just how they plan on preventing it and fighting back, because if one thing was for certain, it was this;

_This means war._


End file.
